


The Flower Garden

by Dukeofnachos



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, I wrote this purely out of spite, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, might continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dukeofnachos/pseuds/Dukeofnachos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Daisy is a mask that Nick wears to make Gatsby happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flower Garden

**Author's Note:**

> At first I wrote this as a joke. Then I wrote more of it because someone told me not to. Then I finished it because I was procrastinating. Enjoy.

I don’t often think back on Gatsby. When I do, I’m often stricken by a mysterious illness that leaves me unable to accomplish anything more complicated than waking up. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that I loved him, after a fashion. Not as brothers or as friends, though we could have easily been mistaken for either. I loved Gatsby the way that I should have loved Jordan. The way that he loved Daisy.

I don’t want to believe that any part of our friendship was fabricated, least of all because of any resemblance between myself and Daisy. Still, in my mind’s eye, untouched by time as all of my memories of Gatsby are, I remember days when he would look into my eyes and he would glow as if the sun had died and been reborn in his chest. On the first occasion of many, I remember my heart temporarily forgetting how to properly function in the wake of his smile. Then he looked at the rest of me, and he realized that while my eyes were like hers, on even the vaguest terms, the rest of me was not. Nonetheless, his eyes bore holes into my skin whenever it seemed to him that my attention was focused elsewhere, and I never saw it fit to comment on. It was much easier to pretend his attention was for me.

I wish I could say that it was all that I wanted. Had I been satisfied with only that, the pain in my chest may not be as harsh. But one night of the many we spent together that summer, he came to me for comfort, and it didn't occur to me, smitten as I was, that I could have rejected him.

“We know each other well enough for a few personal questions, don’t we, Old Sport?” He stated more than asked. He swirled a glass of alcohol in his hand, leaning against the wall. I nodded, though I knew he hadn't wanted an answer. “Do you enjoy the company of men?” He asked casually, as if he were asking about my favorite flavor of jam rather than my sexual preferences.

I froze. A chill ran down my spine, and I choked on the nothing in my throat as I tried to think of what I must have done to betray my attraction to him. I knew I could never hide everything, but I had tried to keep my attentions brotherly. The thought that I may have let something slip left me cold. “That’s quite the accusation to make.” I forced out in a shaky voice.

“It’s not an accusation.” He said easily, as if men hadn't been killed for such things. It had always left me in awe, the way that even the most serious topics became casual when he spoke of them. “It’s an invitation.”

I paused and looked him over carefully. His face was honest, at least, but as far as I could tell, he always looked like that. Surely though, Gatsby of all people wouldn't expose me. Gatsby, whose secrets I knew better than my own. “Are you,” I began. I swallowed the dryness in my throat, hoping that what I wanted most could be within my reach, if only for tonight.. “Are you offering me a place in your bed?”

Gatsby looked a bit tense as he sipped his drink. “I’m asking if you’d be receptive of such an invitation.” He said. I realized, belatedly, that he believed for a moment that he had been wrong. He looked for all the world like I was going to leave him there and never return. As if I were capable of such a feat.

In that moment, I was overcome with a kind of desire that left me weak and unable to think of anything but giving myself to him. “I would.” I said. As soon as the words left my lips I felt like an exposed nerve. Surely he would see that it was not purely lust that lead me to him, and he would regret ever inquiring in the first place. But he didn't seem to notice.

He smiled then, and I knew already that I could not leave him. I hoped beyond all hopes that Daisy would never return his feelings for her, because if she did, I knew I would be forced to give this up. But at present, he was offering a place to me, and not her. I was almost certain that he could want me instead. That if I wished hard enough, we might stay together for as long as we could. That while my moving in might have been suspicious, we might be together all the same. Maybe, if I were lucky, he wouldn't want Daisy at all, and I would have replaced her in his heart. Of course, these were delusions I only dared to entertain because I was presented with a very, very, small chance that they may be true.

“I knew you would understand.” He said. By some miracle my hopes didn't make a sound as they shattered on the floor.

A weight fell in my stomach, and I heard my voice reply to him. “Men make poor substitutes for women, Jay.”

I regretted it immediately, for the smile vanished from his face. “You’re quite enough for me, Old Sport.” I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as I swallowed another comment. I wasn't enough. He wanted see Daisy then, and I couldn't have been her no matter how hard I tried. But still I kept myself from saying anything to that effect. Gatsby was just as beautiful when he was unhappy, but there was something ugly in it that I never wanted to be the cause of again. I gazed up at him, and somewhere under the hurt, he must have recognized my eyes. At that moment, they weren't Daisy’s. They were his. My eyes were his when he gazed at the green phantom across the lake. I knew that he recognized it, because for the first time, he said my name. “Nick,” He started. “You-“

“It’s fine.” I told him. Hearing my name on his lips was almost too much to bear. He looked startled that I would interrupt him. I was startled that I would think to. I gave a small smile that was just as artificial as his desire for me. “You can,” I swallowed here, before continuing in a shaky voice. “That is, I won’t mind if you say her name.”

He looked a little sick then, as if I had disgusted him. Maybe I had. Maybe making my desperation for him apparent was the cause of the sour look on his face. Whatever the reason, I didn't give him a chance to voice it. Before I could think about the implications of my actions, I had crossed the room and my lips were upon his in a searing hot kiss. For a few seconds, he was unresponsive, and I would have withdrawn and apologized if not for the fact that he pulled me closer as I made to move away. We kissed once, twice, three times, his tongue plundering my mouth, his hands wandering and making me dizzy with lust.

I wanted Gatsby in a way that I've never wanted anyone else. It was a burning in my blood, a pull from my very being. All I wanted was to be closer, to kiss his shoulders and his cheeks. I clutched at him desperately and he clutched right back. He wanted me, too. It’s more accurate to say that he wanted Daisy, but I was being Daisy for him. It stung to think that these passionate kisses were meant for someone who would never want them, but she wasn't here. I was. It didn't matter who the addressee was. The package was at my door.

He moved so that my back was against the wall, and his hands cradled my face for a moment, awkwardly avoiding my jaw, before moving to my hair. He hesitated. I realized with a jolt that my hair was much shorter than Daisy’s. I pulled back to whisper an apology for not being the way he needed me to be, desperate for his approval even then, but his fingers quickly found a way to grip my hair anyway. I moaned my approval into his mouth. One of his hands came up to help my leg wrap around his waist. He ground against me, rubbing our hardened lengths together. He pulled back to groan long and low into my ear. I let out a quiet gasp of his name.

“Daisy,” he whispered in answer, his hips still moving against mine. It should have left me cold, but even then, the name was a mask. I wouldn't have asked him to stop even if it had. As it was, I simply whimpered in answer before baring my neck to him. I wanted his lips on my skin, his fingers in my hair, anything he would give me. Anything he could give me.

He took my invitation happily.

He worshiped my neck with lips and teeth. He bit down over my pulse point and I made a sound I didn’t know I was capable of. I could feel his arousal pressing against my stomach and logically, I knew it was for Daisy, and not for me. Everything was for Daisy. Even through the almost irrational love I had for him, I knew that. He belonged to Daisy, mind, body, and soul. I tried to put it out of my mind as I slipped out of his grasp to drop to my knees. However, as my hands tried furiously to get his pants open, an even better thought came to my mind.

I could be Daisy for him. I thought of myself, dolled up in a pretty dress and make-up. I’m a rather thin man and there’s very little about me that would be considered masculine. I could be Jay’s girl, if he wanted. I may not make a beautiful woman, but I could be his woman, if he wanted. I could be a lot of things, if he wanted. And he was making it very clear that she was what he wanted. So I thought to myself, as I slid his pants down his hips, that I would be Daisy. I would study the way she walked, and the way she talked. The way she made the whole world fall in love with her. And then I would do the same, for Gatsby.

I took him into my mouth then. He bucked and gasped her name, and it was mine. The sounds he made as I gave him release were mine. But they were not for Nick. They were for Daisy. At that moment, I was Daisy. He ran his fingers through my hair and sometimes he would cry out so loudly I would almost believe that someone would hear him. I wanted them to hear him. I wanted them to know that I could do this to him.

I managed to bring myself to look up at him and before me was one of the most radiant beings I’ve ever seen. His head was thrown back in bliss, his mouth open as he showered praise upon me. He looked down at me for a moment and shut his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look. I hated that at first. That he thought he could just shut his eyes and pretend that someone else was in my place. I was Daisy then, and while Nick was content with being ignored, Daisy was not. But just as I took all of him into my mouth, he stuttered out a warning. Thrilled by the prospect, I moaned around him. He clutched my hair and thrust into my mouth once, twice, and fell over the edge. With one last gasp of my name (mine, mine, mine), he filled my mouth.

It was as salty and bitter as the night had been. But it was Gatsby’s, so I loved it all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write like F Scott Fitzgerald, and I think I did kinda well at the beginning, but it kinda fell apart halfway through. I might decide to come back to this later and add a new chapter or something. We'll see.


End file.
